Inkheart: The Story Continued
by Masked Man 2
Summary: A continuation of 'Inkheart: The Untold Story:' a collection of stories that, having been mentioned in tales of the Inkworld, are now being fleshed out and retold.
1. Resa and the Snake

**Author's Note: Oh...I didn't get the 'where you left off' memo...so I started in a random place. Oops. Well, in any case...hi, everyone! I'm Masked Man 2, and I'll be continuing **_**Inkheart: The Untold Story**_** for the wonderful PrizJefra. I hope you enjoy Chapter 1!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own **_**Inkheart (**_**in any shape or form), and I don't own **_**The Untold Story**_**, either. **

The night was still as stone and black as pitch; not even a breath of wind stirred the dust that had settled in the streets of Capricorn's village. The barking of dogs, the snoring of slumbering, off-duty guards, and the screaming and whimpering of prisoners shattered the heavy silence periodically, but the villains of the village slept on, undisturbed.

One figure, however, did not sleep. Taking care not to make a sound, she crept carefully through the shadowy kitchen of Capricorn's house. Her blue eyes, pink-rimmed with exhaustion, darted about suspiciously, observing the large, low-ceilinged room with trepidation. Her thin, raw fingers fluttered briefly with anxiety.

Painfully slowly, Resa reached into the sleeve of her dress, grasping the small, rusting key with her dreadfully shaky fingers. She had stolen it mere hours ago, taking it from Mortola's great iron ring with a sleight of hand that shocked her. And now, holding it between slick palms, she allowed the smallest flicker of hope to set her weary heart a-shuddering. This could be it. She could finally be free of this place.

How often she had yearned for this moment! How often she had dreamed of escape in the hushed hours of night! For she was a prisoner, just as much as any of the men and women in the stables- trapped in a voiceless body, miles and miles away from her family, made to work as a slave for the most vile, despicable beings alive. _Capricorn. Mortola. Basta. _Their names flitted through her mind, stinging like bees and plaguing her like flies. Oh, what she would give for freedom from their black power!

She had tried to escape once before. When she had been brought out of the medieval world of _Inkheart_ four months ago, she had been locked in the stables on her first night. She had hit her guard on the head with a brick, and had run through the tangled woods around the village for hours before a group of the Black Jackets had caught her, trussed her up like a game bird, and dragged her back to the village. The next day, she had been given a maid's uniform, shut into the kitchen chains, and placed under Mortola's cruel rule.

There was no use trying to run, the other maids told her. She would be beaten and locked in the stables again if she tried. All she could do was bide her time: do as she was told, and hope for a miracle….

...And now, at last, she held a miracle in her hands. If this key was the right one, she could _finally _get out of these cursed chains; she could run away, as far away from this wicked place as possible. She could search for her family: her beloved Meggie and Mo. She could go _home_.

Hardly daring to breathe, Resa inserted the key into the lock on the shackle that choked her ankle. The sudden, scraping _click_ made her lightheaded with relief. It fit! The key fit! Her chapped lips parted in an ecstatic grin, and she turned the key with no further hesitation. The lock sprang open, and she immediately wrenched the shackle off, gasping as her bruised, tender flesh smarted in the open air. The chain came next, and the whole wretched ensemble was placed quietly into a small cupboard. The key she tucked back into her sleeve; she was determined to keep it as a testament to her escape.

X X X

Resa dashed through the village's black streets, her thin slippers making no sound on the uneven cobblestones. She kept diligently to the shadows, out of the sight of the bored, weary guards that roamed the area. Her eyes, wide with anxious exhilaration, remained fixed on the rifles that those guards clutched: rifles that would swing into position and fire at the slightest movement or noise. She was _so close_ to liberty; she couldn't afford to make any mistakes.

She ran past houses and shops, walls and cars, getting ever closer to the dense forest that surrounded the village. She would be safe there, she knew. She could hide among the trees and brambles, moving until she found a road, a town. None of the superstitious villagers nearby would dare to take her back to_ la __città del Diavolo_. They wouldn't even report her...she hoped.

Sneaking between the cars in the parking lot in front of the guardhouse seemed astonishingly easy..._too_ easy; she was out on the main road in a matter of minutes. The world was still eerily silent but for the rustles, chirps, and buzzes of the might-washed forest. Resa stood at the wood's edge for a moment, allowing herself to bask in the enormity of her accomplishment. By God...she was free! _Free!_ A dizzying elation swept over her at the thought, and she staggered, tears of joy sliding unbidden down her face. Her feet seemed to move of their own accord, leading her straight into the trees, away from the deserted road. She picked her way gingerly up the steep s ope of the ground, letting the gentle, distant pinpricks of starlight illuminate her path. _Free...at last_...but she couldn't stop now; she had to keep going, gain as much distance as possible….

A sudden, stabbing pain in her ankle stopped her in her tracks; she gasped, feeling as though an electric current had been shot through her leg. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish's, forgetting that it couldn't make sounds. What...what _was_ that? A snare? A trap of some kind? Would she be caught after all?

The pain was beginning to make her dizzy; waves of heat seemed to wash over her, and her breath came quick and faint. Her thoughts slowed, muddled; her vision dimmed and blurred dangerously. Feeling a fragmented, debilitating fear overcome her, she forced herself to look down at her feet, struggling desperately to remain conscious, against the will of whatever vile drug had been injected into her.

The cold, calculating, pale eyes of the small black snake met her own hazy ones with an almost indolent malevolence. _Don't get in my way,_ they seemed to say. _Not my fault if something like this were to happen, now, is it? _How strange...the snake had Basta's voice- that same rasping, sibilant hiss that struck terror and disgust into the hearts of all the maids…. The creature slithered back slightly, and seemed to shift and grow before her eyes, its scaly reptilian facade taking on the sharp, angular contours of the right-hand-man's dark, thin face. He smiled at her, cat-like, drawing his knife out of his pocket, caressing it lovingly….

"No use trying to run, _tesoro_," he purred, stalking toward her, the sharp blade mere inches from her face. "Come to me, my mute songbird. Come to me…." And he grabbed at her chin, and pressed his mint-reeking lips to hers, and drew the knife straight up her leg as the world burst into a shower of blackening stars.

X X X

Everything blurred in and out of focus before her eyes; colors danced, and shapes loomed large and dark before tunneling out to mere pinpoints in a void of shadow. She was cognizant of a deafening ringing in her ears, a dull throbbing in her head, an oppressive heat constricting her body, and a piercing pain in her leg. Half-formed thoughts flitted through her mind like insects, floating together to form patterns that had no semblance of sense in their framework. She felt drowsy and giddy...but the feeling, despite the pain, was not wholly _unpleasant_. If it wasn't for the knife she was sure Basta had stuck in her leg, she might have been having a strange, strange dream….

Resa drifted in and out of consciousness for hours, lost in the dreamscapes of her fevered delirium. She couldn't bring herself to move, couldn't shift her leaden limbs to look at the wound that plagued her. She could feel her mind and heart slow, and couldn't bring herself to care. Even when the poisoned haze of her thoughts cleared into a startling ray of lucidity, she couldn't muster the energy to do something, _anything_, to save herself.

_So this is how it ends, _she thought wearily_. To come this far, only to die from a snakebite...it's pathetic. _You're _pathetic...you couldn't even make it out. They'll come with the dogs tomorrow, just you wait, and find your wretched, venom-wracked corpse, and laugh like hyenas at your stupidity…._

X X X

Resa wasn't greeted with the bright light of Heaven when she opened her eyes, but neither did the dark flames of Hell meet her gaze. Something soft and damp rested on her face, blocking her vision in a wash of beige. Her head still ached, but the electric pain in her leg had been reduced to a mere sting, and she no longer felt as if she was burning while simultaneously being encased in ice...the change was bloody marvelous.

With a soundless moan, Resa brought her trembling hands to her face, removed the cloth, and sat up. The world tilted and spun sickeningly, and she closed her eyes briefly to let the feeling pass. When it had, she wiped droplets of sweat from her forehead with the cloth- a scarf, she saw- and glanced around, her surprise growing by the minute.

She was in a cave of sorts, with sandstone walls and a floor of sand, scattered with rocks and small plants. A battered backpack had been placed under her head, and she lay atop a ragged coat of heavy, green-brown wool. Both items carried the sharp, wild scents of forests, smoke, and winter wind, with the faintest hint of some fiery foreign spice. The invigorating, alluring musk sent a little thrill through Resa's blood...but the heady exhilaration soon morphed into alarm. Where _was_ she? Who had brought her here, among these strange things? How long had she been unconscious? _What had happened while she was out? _

Clenching her teeth determinedly, Resa lifted the long skirt of her ridiculous maid's dress and bent over to assess the damage that had been done to her leg. Unexpectedly, her ankle had been wrapped in strips of rough white linen, and faint streaks of mauve extended beyond the top of the makeshift bandage. The area felt swollen and warm when she laid her hand on it, but the smarting pain the contact should have caused was alleviated by some cooling paste that had evidently been carefully applied. Dully, she stared at the treated wound, feeling slow and more than a little perplexed. One thing, though, was certain: someone had cared enough to expend his resources and help her. The question was..._who?_

X X X

Resa didn't realize she had fallen back asleep until she woke with a startled gasp. She was, to her great relief, still in the cave, but now the golden light of mid-morning streamed through the entrance, making the small chamber glow brightly. She stretched languidly in the sun, flexing her ankle, which, despite a slight, lingering ache, felt almost normal. A smile broke out on her face, but when a shadow darkened the cave entrance, she scrambled back, mouth open in a wordless cry of terror.

The man that walked into the cave was rangy and lean, with long dancer's legs and a hard, whipcord musculature. His pale, ginger-blond hair fell to his shoulders in ruffled, curling waves, and his rough skin was tanned from the sun. His gingery stubble and piercing eyes- narrow, wide-set, and a disconcerting bluish-grayish-green color- gave him an enigmatic, feral appearance, which was very much exacerbated by the three scars that were carved into his gaunt cheeks. His clothes- a thin, long-sleeved black shirt and dark brown trousers- were ragged and threadbare, and looked as though they had been stolen from various collection bins. He wore worn black boots, and a black leather cord around his neck.

Resa stared at the stranger warily, her back flush against the far wall of the cave, but the man seemed not to notice her. He turned and whistled sharply; a moment later, a lithe, slender, cat-like animal- a marten, she realized- came scampering through the entrance. The creature climbed nimbly up the man's long body to settle itself on his shoulder, where it immediately began hissing and chattering, its beady dark eyes fixed belligerently on Resa's prone form.

"Hush, Gwin; you'll frighten her." The man advanced toward her, his hands held in front of him in a gesture of peace. "Hello," he said softly, kneeling down beside her. "I'm sorry about all this; you must be very confused…. I'm, ah, assuming you just woke up?"

Guardedly, Resa shook her head and mouthed, _I woke up last night. _When the man frowned at her response, she sighed heavily. This was always the worst part of talking with someone: explaining to that unsuspecting do-gooder that she was-

"Mute?" The man's sudden question startled her. "You're mute?"

_Yes, _she mouthed, eyeing him with no small amount of suspicion.

"And a maid, too...no wonder you ran away, then," he murmured, seemingly to himself. He had a nice voice, Resa couldn't help but think: husky and low, colored with a distinctive brogue. Nothing at all like Mo's voice, with its rich, deep timbre, but comforting all the same….

...The gravity of his statement hit her, perhaps, a moment too late. _And a maid…_. How had he known she was a maid? Was he from the village? Had they discovered her flight, and sent this man to bring her back? Why would he be helping her if they had?

_Who are you? _she cried soundlessly. _What am I doing here; why did you bring me here? What are you going to do to me? I won't let you take me back, by God, I swear I'll kill you if you try!_

"Easy!" The man backed away from her slightly, holding up his hands placatingly. "I'm not going to take you back. By fire and fairies, I'd be happy to never set eyes on Capricorn and his bastard dogs for as long as I live."

_How do you know Capricorn? _she asked, persistent.

The man snorted. "I've run into him and his pack one too many times for my comfort. You're damn lucky that you got out of that cursed place. I swear, you're safe with me."

_How can I trust you? _God, Resa _ached _to believe him!... But how could she?

"Ah…." The man glanced down, running his long, thin fingers through his hair. "You can't, really. I suppose it's not enough to know that I hate that damned village as much as you do."

_No, it's not. _Resa studied the man carefully, taking in his rough, seedy appearance, his awkwardness, and (most importantly) his apparent lack of a weapon. While she didn't think she had ever seen him before…. _What is your name? I'll be more inclined to believe you if I've never heard of you. _

"Doesn't the fact that I haven't beaten you yet count for something?" he muttered irritably. Resa shot him a cautious glance at that comment; she couldn't tell if he was joking or not. The man sighed. "Apparently not. The name's Dustfinger...not that it'll make you any less suspicious, because I'm fairly you _have _heard of me."

X X X

_Dustfinger. _Yes, she had heard of him, all right. The Black Jackets mentioned his name often, with everything from contempt to grudging admiration in their tones. Basta, she knew, genuinely hated the man, while Capricorn seemed to despise him and be amused by him in turns. The maids, especially the ones that had never seen him, regarded him as something of a legend: a scarred, tragic hero out of any good fantasy novel...which he was, really. People had called him the Fire-Dancer in _Inkheart_, and he had brought that title out of the book with him. Studying him again, Resa was astonished that she hadn't seen it before. The fiery hair, the rough voice..._the three scars_. This, without doubt, was the very same Dustfinger, and she couldn't be more pleased; his dislike of Capricorn and his men was well-known.

_I know who you are, _she told him, her hands fluttering with excited relief. _I've heard many things about you. _

"Nothing good, I hope," he quipped, giving her a cryptic half-smile.

Resa couldn't hold back a delighted giggle. _No, _she agreed. _I've been told you're a veritable rogue. _

"Really," the fire-eater drawled. "Well, it's the strolling player's curse. You have a lovely laugh, by the by. I'm honored to finally hear your voice."

_Yes..._ she replied, feeling her mood darken at the reminder of her _own _curse.

Dustfinger noticed her forlorn expression, and immediately winced. "Right," he murmured, running a hand through his hair again. "I'm sorry."

Resa sighed. _It's alright. _In an effort to relieve the sudden tension, she offered him a small smile. _I think this is the part when I thank you for saving me. I might have...died...if you hadn't helped me._

"You would have," he told her somberly. "Those little black snakes are the deadliest of them all. Luckily, lavender is a very effective antidote."

_Lavender? _Resa pointed to the bandage on her ankle and tilted her head curiously. _That's what this is? _

"Yes. Very good for snakebites. Fevers, too."

_I see. _Mindful of her still-healing wound, she shuffled closer to Dustfinger, and took both of his hard, callused hands in her own dry, cracked ones. _Thank you, _she mouthed, trying to express her profound gratitude with her eyes, and failing. _Thank you for all of this. _

X X X

Dustfinger, Resa found, made an excellent companion. He was taciturn, but not overbearingly so, and was a quick study; despite her obvious handicap, she was able to teach him much of her language of gestures and signs with relative ease. In exchange, he told her stories of his home, his quiet, gravelly voice painting a vivid picture of fairies, trolls, Night-Mares, strolling players, and deep, wild woods. He spoke of the place with such wistfulness and warmth in his voice that she didn't have the heart to speak of her own time in that world, of all the darkness she had seen and felt….

"You would have loved the fire, I think," he was saying, his voice hushed with reverence. "It was a living creature there; if you knew how, you could speak to it like a lover. Here...fire has no sense of humor." He trailed off morosely, turning his strange eyes to the ground in evident anamnesis. The urgent chattering of Gwin, however, brought him abruptly out of his reverie. His sharp face shadowed by a frown, he stood, stalking noiselessly to the cave entrance and peering furtively outside.

Worried by his sudden vigilance, Resa crawled closer to him, reaching out to touch his leg. _What is it? _she asked. _What's wrong?_

"Get away from the entrance," he replied tightly, his voice betraying no emotion. When Resa stared uncomprehendingly at him, he paced angrily away from her, his left hand clenching into a fist and jerking towards the back of the cave. "Get back! Goddamnit, do as I say!"

His rage frightened her. Resa wasted no time in crawling back to the far corner and curling into a ball. Should Dustfinger lose his temper completely…. Would he strike her? There was no way to say! She didn't even know what had _happened_, for God's sake!

_What is __**wrong**__?_ she repeated forcefully. _Why...why are you so…._

"Well! If it isn't Dirtyfingers himself. Fancy seeing _you _here, my fire-eating..._friend_."

X X X

Resa froze, and immediately pressed herself as far back into the shadows as she could possibly go. She knew that voice...that cat-like, rasping voice..._Basta. _God, no; he had found her, it was only a matter of seconds before he would grab her throat and haul her back-

"What are you doing here, Basta?" Dustfinger's remark was enough to shock her into rational thought. His tone was...prosaic. Bored, even. "Late morning's the best time for snakes, you know. Wouldn't want one of those crawling up your scrawny yellow arse, now, would you?"

Basta scoffed, whipping his knife out of his belt and flicking it open smoothly. "Please! Are you trying to scare me off? I have news for you, matchstick-eater. _It. Isn't. Bloody. Working. _I know what you're up to; don't think that I don't."

Dustfinger spread his hands fecklessly. "Really. What am I up to, then? Tell me."

_What are you __**doing?!**_ Resa mouthed, unseen.

Basta's thin face twisted into an ugly smirk. "Don't play that game with me, you dirty bastard. You think you're so clever, don't you, with your bloody silver tongue, and your fire-"

"The fire that burned you to the quick, as I recall. I'd watch my mouth if I were you."

"Well, you're not, and I can do what I damn well please. So…." Basta took a step into the cave, his knife sliding almost sensuously over Dustfinger's scarred face. Behind him, Cockerell's wiry form and Flatnose's hefty bulk cast ominous shadows over the cave entrance. Resa shivered, terror freezing her in place. "Where's the girl, Dirtyfingers? Where's my mute songbird?"

"Flying away from you, no doubt. Whoever the unlucky wench is, I'm not surprised she's taken off."

"You shut up!" In the blink of an eye, Basta's knifeless fist struck Dustfinger right in the chest, hard enough to bend him over. Flatnose and Cockerell grabbed an arm each, and held him up in the air against the cave wall. Basta slashed furiously at the fire-eater's lean arm, tearing the sleeve and skin with a horrible ripping sound. Resa choked silently, praying that she wouldn't vomit at the sight of the red blood streaming down Dustfinger's arm….

"_Don't play games with me, you _porco bastardo! _WHERE IS THE MAID?!_"

"How the bloody Hell should I know?" Dustfinger gasped. "I don't know what you're-"

"You filthy-" _SLAM. _"- little-" _CRACK. _"- _asino_-" CRUNCH.

X X X

Each strike left Resa breathless. Flatnose and Cockerell were merciless, punching Dustfinger whenever he so much as opened his mouth, and holding him up so he couldn't defend himself. Basta sliced at him wildly with the knife; his arms, legs, torso...they were covered in blood, and it was washing over the floor in a sickly tide of red….

Gwin ran at Cockerell's heels, enraged, trying to defend his master, but the redhaired brute kicked out viciously, catching the creature in the side and flinging him across the cave, where he lay motionless on the ground.

"_Malvagios lercios!_" Dustfinger croaked, twisting and kicking with all his waning strength. "_Vai al diavolo! Giuro su Dio, poi ti uccido! Visto quello io non volere!_"

"_**WHERE IS SHE?! WHERE IS-**_"

_**NO!**_ Resa couldn't take it anymore. Throwing caution to the wind, she flew up and threw herself at Basta, trying to still his wretched knife. _I'm here! _she sobbed. _Take me, take me back, I don't care what you do! Just stop hurting him!_

"You'll get off me, my little songbird, or I'll decorate your pretty face, too," Basta told her, a core of ice lying beneath his pleasant tone. With one final, devastating blow to Dustfinger's temple, he turned around, grabbing Resa's arm tightly. "Let him go," he told the others. "We're bringing this one back where she belongs."

Flatnose and Cockerell, not to be outdone, hit Dustfinger once more, and dropped him unceremoniously to the ground. He groaned once, but lay still afterwards...frighteningly still. Resa, tears streaming down her face, reached out to him, but Basta took her hand in a bruising grip and tutted impatiently.

"None of that, love," he said in mock disapproval. A cruel, smug smile lit his eyes. "Leave him to rot; we've got places to be. Capricorn's been _dying _to know where you've been."

**A bit of an abrupt ending, but...it's late. Sorry. **

**Honestly, I've never written Basta before, and I've always found Dustfinger difficult. I freelanced the whole 'fight' scene, too...so if it's bad, I'm truly sorry. **

**Translation time! (These are all Italian)**

**Porco bastardo: F-king bastard**

**Asino: Jackass**

**Malvagios lercios: Filthy devils**

**Vai al diavolo: Go to Hell, or literally, go to the Devil**

**Giuro su Dio: I swear to God**

**Poi ti uccido: I'll kill you**

**Visto quello io non volere: You see that I won't**

**I don't speak Italian, so if anyone wants to correct me, please do.**

**That's all for now. I really enjoyed writing this, and I hope to see you soon! Remember to tell me your thoughts! Please!**


	2. Cloud-Dancer's Fall

**Hello, all! So...right off the bat, I'd like to apologize for the lateness of this...I blame writer's block and a TON of schoolwork. :/**

**Secondly, I'd like to thank **_**McShmickley**_**, **_**Rangersan**_**, and the three guests (I'm sorry; I don't know your names!) for reviewing; your support and feedback means the world to me!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own **_**Inkheart, **_**or **_**Inkheart: The Untold Story**_**.**

The sky was gray that day, and a strong, stiff wind blew mercilessly, making the flags, pennants, and tightropes of the Ombra market shiver and flap violently. Ladies clutched their hats and capes, and men pulled their cloaks tightly about them, cursing the chill breeze. All glanced up at the wires uneasily, marveling at that one wire-walker foolhardy enough to brave the unsteady ropes. He seemed oblivious to the danger, conscious only of the large crowd that had gathered below him, exhilarated and fearful.

He was not exactly fresh and willowy anymore...never had been, really. Nonetheless, Cloud-Dancer stepped and leaped and turned with all the sprightly energy of his bygone youth, graceful as a cat. He danced easily in the clouds, and two long, carved poles, weighted at either end with hanging brass balls, spun and flashed in his hands as he turned them about his twisting body, cutting through the gray air in dizzying, wondrous patterns.

X X X

Dustfinger, bless his wandering heart, had taught him that trick. He'd used to light those poles on fire, let the flames lick their greedy way up the polished wood and weave around it joyfully, lighting up the night sky with wheels of fire.

By the stars, but Cloud-Dancer did miss that rangy bugger he'd been so fortunate to call friend. It had been almost a year since he'd disappeared (along with Capricorn and that dog Basta, but no one missed _them_ much at all), and everyone was still more than a bit distraught. Cloud-Dancer couldn't remember the last time he'd since the Black Prince smile, couldn't remember the last time he'd see poor Roxane without red eyes, from crying her sweet self to a fitful sleep on those dark nights that the fire no longer kept at bay.

_Damn you, you bloody rascal_, he thought grimly. _Heaven knows I love you...but __**damn you **__all the same_.

X X X

His thoughts were too heavy, Cloud-Dancer decided, but there was nothing he could do about _that. _Still...there was a time and a place for everything, and he realized, somewhat dazedly, that he had stilled his dance with danger, and was merely standing motionless atop the rope, to the chagrin of his restless audience.

That fire-eating bastard would be laughing if he was here, calling Cloud-Dancer a sentimental fool- sad, but true, that- and telling him, in that sardonic way of his, to get the hell back to his dance.

_No sense in disappointing the crowd anymore than you usually do_, he'd say...and he'd be right, the bugger. Heaving a sigh heavy with sadness, he drew his heavy shoulders up, shrugging off the memories that haunted him. No sense in grieving now. Not when he had a crowd waiting.

X X X

Cloud-Dancer threw himself into the performance, letting his sorrow and rage fuel his muscles, pouring his heart and soul into the dance with death. He leaped, kicked, spun the poles, spun himself, unheedful of any distance, any wind, any _thought_, letting his body do the work it loved so well. His frenetic efforts proved fruitful, and scores of men, women, and children began to gather below the rope, rapt, captivated by the spell woven by this magical performance.

He glimpsed the crowd out of the corner of his squinting eye, and allowed a broad grin to cross his lined face, feeling the darkness of his earlier musings dissipate. This was what he'd been born to do, what he'd continue to do all his life...for when was one more alive than when he was dancing with death like this?

X X X

There was no warning, no possible way to foresee what happened next. Cloud-Dancer had, in sudden daring, shut his eyes, to the crowd's delight, allowing adrenaline to sweep him into its wild embrace and letting pure instinct take over. On the ground, a market trader eyed him with undisguised envy and aggravation, growling slightly at the artful figure of the man that had distracted all of his customers' attention. He wouldn't stand for this...there was only one thing to do to amend it….

The cabbage came out of nowhere, sailing through the air like the deadly ball it was. It flew true...too true, and struck the corner of the rope with an audible_ thud. _Screams from the crowd mingled jarringly with a sudden, frightening shudder, and Cloud-Dancer found himself pitching back and forth, unable to regain his balance, slipping from the rope, even as he desperately tried to grab onto it, falling and flailing through the gray afternoon sky.

Hoarse screams ripped themselves from his throat, but it was no use; he had nothing to catch, nothing to touch. Only cold autumn air and harsh, unforgiving ground below.

The crowd surged forward as he fell; were they hoping to catch him? Heaven's sake, they were_ in the bloody way_; he'd crush the lot of them if they didn't move!...But at that point, he couldn't very well _tell_ them all that, now could he?

He crashed down hard onto something...vaguely wooden, but soft at the same time. A sickening _crack_ made him feel sick, and his eyes squeezed shut of their own accord. Voices seemed to buzz in his ears, fading in and out, and he was faintly conscious of lying flat upon something round and warm. He forced his uncooperative eyes open, blinking uneasily as the world blackened and swayed about him. Shapes milled around his rapidly narrowing field of vision, calling for _Nettle, a healer, a physician!_

Cloth, he saw. He was lying on bolts of cloth, amidst the collapsed wood of a cloth-merchant's stall. His left leg, for some reason, was skewed at a strange, unnatural angle...gods, but he felt absolutely sick at the sight. There was pain, too, starting to flare up in unbearable waves...really, it was all too much. Above him, the voices pleaded him to stay awake, to stay with them, but he couldn't bring himself to mind them, and slipped into blackness without another thought.

**Poor, poor Cloud-Dancer. You get distracted, you overcompensate, and now you pay the price. Curse that market trader.**

**So...I'm not really very satisfied with this, but...well, it's something, at least. I hope you enjoyed it!**

**Please remember to tell me what you thought! Also, if anyone has any requests for future chapters, please let me know! I'm always open to ideas!**


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